THE GAMEMAKER’S FATHER
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© 2011 John Jonelis – All Rights Reserved
SECRET
When a violent crime takes place, should the police always be involved? The quick answer is yes, but ponder a moment. I mean this as a human question, not an ethical one. We are emotional creatures and we make decisions through the filter of past experience.
Early in my novel, Zachary blunders into an armed robbery in progress at Big Jim McCullough’s service station. It’s not the first time it’s happened yet McCullough won’t call the police. His response is emotional, rooted in past memory. Logical or not, he will protect himself against a repeat of previous events. These things are hidden in his heart and Zachary can make no sense of the decision.
During a previous robbery, McCullough chases off a couple of hold-up men with a shotgun loaded with slugs—just fires over their heads. The police respond to the scene and arrest McCullough. You get that? The police arrest him right in his own place of business—they don’t pursue the real criminals. They charge McCullough for firing without imminent danger. That’s against the law in most places. To state it baldly, he’s not in the process of being murdered when he fires his weapon.
Fiercely independent, McCullough creates his own system for dealing with such incidents—a method that doesn’t involve the police. His system works. It keeps him clean with the law and the insurance company.
Later in the story, Zachary faces a similar decision. After a layoff, a disgruntled worker shoves a shotgun against his back. As foreman, it’s not the first time he’s been threatened but on this occasion, his friend, Ocono, knocks the man to the ground and beats him senseless. Should Zachary call the police?
If he does, a good machinist will not only be out of work but will face jail time. If he does, Ocono may be charged with assault. If he does, Zachary’s wife will worry about dangers that are a part of his job. What should he do?
CONFESSION
I’ve been reflecting on a difficult subject—admitting wrongdoing, as outlined in my previous post. People don’t like it. That’s normal. There are those who will admit fault after it’s been proven in a logical manner beyond all reasonable doubt. Others require a defining event. Some will never admit wrongdoing. We all know people who will continue an argument, knowing they are in the wrong.
The problem becomes acute when the person in the wrong is the head of the family. If he’s a no-nonsense father, used to commanding a rough group of tradesmen, he will be difficult to approach, maybe dangerous. I find that fascinating. How does a 12 year old boy act as change agent for such a father? How does a woman of faith exert her influence over a powerful, self-assured and stubborn personality?
In my novel, the main character, Zachary, is in the wrong in a fundamental way. Bringing about change requires concerted and sustained work on the part of his loved ones. Further, it requires a personal crisis to make him come to grips with his own problem. The degree of the challenge makes the ultimate transformation more satisfying. To make it personal, I’ve told the story through his eyes. He’s an unreliable narrator and his attitudes jump out at the reader.
I don’t think Zachary is unusual. Perhaps people don’t normally write about him, but he’s present in our lives. Have you found it so?
NEW YEAR
A couple articles back, I pointed out that drama encompasses human change and I cited Scrooge. Little did I know that real change would be visited upon me so soon after writing those words. New Years is upon us—a time to celebrate the year and dedicate ourselves to personal transformation that makes for a good life, not just good drama.
It was three days ago, Christmas night—Christmas night, mind you—a time when love and gratitude settle on us and we reflect upon good family times. Not me. I returned home stewing in anger over the outrageous attitudes, words, and actions of another family member.
It’s difficult to confront a person like me, but my son wouldn’t leave me in that state. Instead, he drew me into conversation with my wife and daughter in what might be termed an “intervention.” They gave up their happy Christmas night to do it. How do you respond when people tell you the Truth? Do you recognize it when you hear it? If so, can you face it? If so, can you act on it?
They laid out the situation in irrefutable logic. They made their case and made it well. They put in the time needed to convince me. Their conclusions weren’t the ones I’d been harboring in my heart, yet I had to agree with their verdict. How could I deny it? Guilty. Guilty as charged.
Intervention is an invasive, painful process. The incisions and sutures still hurt as I write these words, three days later. But because of the strength of those three dear ones, I made it right with a beloved family member. Our relationship is healed. Years of anger look like foolishness to me. Understanding has replaced outrage.
God bless my wife and kids. God bless them for this Christmas gift and this New Year.
FATHER
This Christmas I want to talk about the concept of “Father.” I don’t know how to do that without getting intensely personal, so that’s what I’m about to do. Some people relate to the word Father with tender feelings of love and warmth. Others find the thought chilling. I hope these few words will have meaning to both groups.
My father grew up poor and tough in the depression, then survived WWII. As a toddler, I watched him swear at other drivers and spit out the window of his old Plymouth. He taught me to sing “The Lady in Red,” and perform it for company, much to my mother’s shame—I didn’t know any better. His passions flared and extinguished rapidly. I later learned that he’d often get drunk. As a child, I couldn’t understand why, one night, Mom locked him out of the house to sleep on the porch. My father seemed perfect to me.
I later learned that my father was a man of integrity who feared nothing. He never responded to an ultimatum. He’d risk his business on a single job, again and again—and win. He hotly negotiated with union leaders and came out the victor. He beat the Mafia when they tried to impose price fixing in his industry.
As I grew, so did my father. He loved life and he loved people, putting them—all of them—ahead of himself. Year-by-year he became more tolerant, more patient, more compassionate, more generous, more loving. He grew into an intensely happy man, beloved by hundreds of friends and the central figure of his extended family. I’ve known him to throw a party and have 300 people show up. I recall one big tough Swede once say, “I love him. I just love him.”
When his business had no work, he’d keep everybody on the payroll anyway. When a foreman was injured, Dad kept him at full salary. I recall running the night shift on a field job when an old boilermaker told me how my father took him and his entire crew to dinner and that he’d never forget it. Without deserving it personally, I was a special person in that man’s eyes, just because I was my father’s son. A lot of people treated me that way because of who Dad was.
The Lord gave us the analogy of Father, Son and Spirit so that we’d understand His complex nature on our own terms. I’m His son. Without deserving it, that makes me a special person. Unfortunately, those who grew up with abusive fathers, absent fathers, those from broken homes and those who have suffered all sorts of humiliation and hurt at the hands of a father have a hard time with the Lord’s beautiful picture. In my novel, I try to address that issue. I hope that my simple story can mend some of that hurt. Merry Christmas!
THE NEGATIVE CHARACTER
Drama encompasses human change. The main character is transformed. As a reader, I’d be disappointed if that change turned out for the worse. By definition, that means the main character must start out seriously flawed. Is this logical, so far? If so, then stay with me:
I’m talking about real character flaws here, not just some guy who needs to take a bath more often. I want to wear his skin for a few days and see what it’s like. He’s not the villain. No, he’s the main guy, the one we’re going to root for at the end. Yes, I’m one of those who always has to do things the hard way. I’ve written a novel through the point of view of a negative character.
In my life, I have yet to meet Mary Poppins—“Practically perfect in every way.” I have met George Banks and I’ve also met Scrooge.
I’ve been privileged to experience all sorts of work with all types of ordinary people. That includes time I treasure with boilermakers, pipe fitters, millwrights, electricians, ironworkers and machinists. We worked in heavy industry—power boilers 200 feet high, everything big and loud and dirty. These guys carried knives and guns on the job. They opened steel gang boxes at night with blow torches and made off with tools for their own garages. They spent their nights in bars. Two offered to do a hit for me—and at a bargain price.
My main character, Zachary, is a machinist foreman. He deals with guys like that every day and commands their respect. He’d naturally advise his son, “Don’t take nothin’ from nobody.”
In a novel, such characters come off as gruff at the beginning. Fortunately for me, most of my readers identify Zachary with somebody in their own lives. Some may recall a hard father or uncle—one they never understood, maybe feared. They want to get into that guy’s head and rummage around. It’s interesting. It’s satisfying to fix something that’s already hopelessly broken.
I like Mary Poppins as much as the next person. It’s a masterpiece and it cheers me. I’m delighted when George Banks flies a kite. But once in a while I want to read about some rough-edged individualist who needs to figure out what human love really means. That’s uplifting to me. It’s all very well for Dick Van Dyke to sweep chimneys and treat everybody with good cheer, dignity and respect, but a lot of people grew up under the thumb of a guy who could knock you out of your chair with the back of a hand and think nothing of it.
Now, admit it. Don’t you want him hit the wall? Don’t you want to see it happen through his own eyes? Don’t you want to feel his struggle when he’s forced to change? Or do you just want a nice sweet story?
“Bah! Humbug!”
PRAISE
All of us are desperate to have someone believe that we are worthwhile. What if a man believes that kind words stifle improvement? What happens to his children when he hands out criticism, but never praise? He learned this mindset from his own father—will he pass it on to his son?
In my novel, I’ve written about a man who carries that burden and I put the reader in his head. It’s intense. Some have a hard time with it. Others respond strongly in the affirmative. Let me quote one that I highly respect:
“You have captured the way it was for me growing up. My dad never complimented me. It seemed to be a rule of thumb that a compliment would immediately breed arrogance and pride. Yet all of us are desperate to have someone believe in us. I’m about 50 pages from the end of the book and feeling sort of sad that it’s almost over.” Robert Page—Senior Pastor and Pulitzer Prize Winning Journalist—The Kent State Shootings
Who will provide the force needed to change the trajectory of such thinking? Does it stop with this generation?
LOST IN GAMES
Many kids today are lost in destructive video games. Their friends are avatars. They spend less time relating to others and develop fewer skills to do so. Many become isolated, especially from the family unit, and deftly block parents from their world. That isolation can lead to depression and destructive behavior. A father and mother are disarmed—unable to bond with their kids—helpless to guide them during those precious years.
At a recent ACFW workshop, the gal next to me asked about my novel. Her level of interest and insight caught me off guard. “Don’t you realize you’ve hit on a hot social issue in the family today?” she said. When I betrayed my ignorance, she proceeded to explain and even wrote key points on scraps of paper. Turns out, I was talking to Pamela Binnings Ewen and didn’t recognize her. She’s sharp.
She went on to tell me that my novel demonstrates an alternative game—a unique method of family bonding. Because situations and values are acted out at a story level, they are readily accepted. Story is a powerful tool. Jesus used it again and again.
In the novel, the roles are reversed. At age 12, with an IQ of 180 and a touch of autism, the game is Nate’s favorite way to communicate with other people. He plays it for fun and writes transcripts to keep his opponents current with the story. He hooks his father into it—a man that doesn’t know how to engage his more-intelligent son in conversation and longs to do so.
Could you hook your son or daughter into such a game? It’s both interactive and portable. Lessons are experienced and problems solved through human interplay. It’s unpredictable and that makes it addictive and exciting. I’ve described the simple rules in a previous post and will repeat them here:
1.) Once an action is put into the game, it cannot be taken out. The result is a developing story line, which is entirely unpredictable.
2.) A player functions through the eyes of his character and that character must be present in the scene. As a result, the player identifies strongly with his character.
3.) Players take turns and advanced preparation is discouraged. As a result, it’s difficult for one player to control the story line.
Are you ever trapped alone with your son or daughter, say in a car during heavy traffic? Seems like a great opportunity.
I invite you to comment.
ABANDONED CHILD
A boy is abandoned by his father at a tender age. There is no denying that this kind of event leaves a festering wound in a child. As he grows to adulthood, it has a tremendous influence on his world view. When he’s grown, what happens to his relationship with his own child? Abandonment has become commonplace in our times, due to divorce or blatant neglect and separation.
Once grown, the hurt may cause him to mirror the behavior of his wayward father, or act entirely the opposite. Either way, it’s sure to have an impact. Wounds from such events get passed along from parent to child to grandchild to great grandchild. This is one example of the Bible’s several references to sin passed on to the fourth generation. At some point somebody has to say, “It stops here.”
I address this in my novel by portraying the father as a gruff, angry and pragmatic man. He left school at an early age to help support his family. It toughened him. He made his own way and wants to pass that along for his son’s own good. In a perverse way, his negative message is his act of love, yet he cannot say the simple words, “I love you.” He is passing along a heritage of bitterness to the next generation. In the case of these two characters, it is up to the son to stop the cycle by playing out a role reversal.
If this has happened in your family, what kind of behavior do you see? Is the wound passed to the next generation or have you found resolution?
A CHILD’S INFLUENCE
A twelve year old boy and his father share a long commute every afternoon. Doesn’t that sound like a recipe for quality time between a father and his gifted and precocious son? Maybe, maybe not.
What if the boy holds a strong faith in the free gift of Christ’s salvation, and his father does not? What if the boy recognizes a mercy and forgiveness that his dad rejects? The father wants to teach survival, to make his boy aware of the dangers in the world, to hammer home the message that a man earns his own way.
I don’t want to paint the picture of a man who is entirely wrong. Each has something of value to share with the other. The father’s lessons are logical and easy to justify and he truly wants the best for his son. In fact, the boy needs to absorb much of this to achieve full maturity, but he must find a way to choose what is right from a barrage of harsh and negative flak.
By what method do each of them wield influence?
The grown man has physical strength, a lifetime of experience, and parental authority behind him, but he’s missing the greatest gift and his son knows it. The boy recognizes a spiritual void and wants to see it filled. How does he assert his influence on a grown man? In his youthful innocence, how does he share compassion and grace with a man filled with bitterness?
Jesus sent out his disciples, saying, “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.” In my novel, a son engages his father in a story game that they play during their commute, and in the game they find a common ground to act out their world views. Through that conflict, an opportunity comes for the boy to assert his influence.
For good or for bad, children do influence their parents. How many parents have found that to be true in their lives?
